


writing woes

by sansastarks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, also some subtle d&d bashing because I do what I want, grad student jon, jonsa, sansa has an embarrassing moment, some fluff and no angst besides Sansa's inner turmoil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 06:55:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20870051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansastarks/pseuds/sansastarks
Summary: “Miss Stark…” Jon trails off for a moment. “I don’t believe this is your history essay.”Sansa frowns. Reaching out, she shifts the laptop towards her. Then, horror sweeps through her.Oh my god. Oh no. Oh my god.The document opened isn’t in fact her essay on the American Women’s suffrage movement and first wave feminism. It isn’t anything near that.--Or, Sansa reluctantly makes an appointment at the writing services center with a Jon Snow. Things seemingly go down hill from there.





	writing woes

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Hi there! As you've most likely already realized, this is not chapter 4 of "where your heart turns (and to what it clings)". For those of you following that fic, I am working on the chapter! It's almost finished and I hope to have it up soon. I just feel like it't not at a point where I'm satisfied yet. So, this is me throwing this lil one-shot at you to distract you!
> 
> 2) This is my first ever Jonsa Modern AU! I'm incredibly excited, but also surprisingly nervous about it. I typically am less inclined, at the moment, to venture into reading (and definitely writing) modern Jonsa. However, I've been reading so much good stuff lately, that I thought I'd give it a try. Hopefully, it's turned out well enough. I'm very nit-picky. This one-shot is all about fun though, so I've decided to go ahead and post it!!! 
> 
> 3) This prompt came to me in a "what-if" moment. I'm currently at uni. I haven't visited the writing center (yet), so I've made it into what I want it to be. This is partially based off myself in that, I did actually write an essay about the topic Sansa mentions. Today, I also walked around for a bit with a giant wet patch over half my chest because I got out of the shower late and my hair was soaking. Thankfully though, this particular instance has never happened!!! I'm so cautious about where I put my fics on my laptop, and always exit. But, haha, if I wasn't, then I would definitely react in the same anxious way Sansa does. All that being said, I hope the lingo and overall feel reflects a college environment because, lmao, awkward if it doesn't because that's where I am now in life.
> 
> 4) YES, I made up a TV show and characters for Sansa to write smut about. The character's names are taken from our own fav actors' middle names or real names. (I thought about using Kit & Sophie but couldn't do it lol.) Please appreciate the subtle d&d bashing.
> 
> 5) I'm not sure what else to say. This fic is the first "just fun" thing I've written in a long while, so enjoy!!! I feed off your kudos & comments!! And, if you're interested about my progress on my other fics, as always check out my Tumblr! Thank you!!
> 
> 6) Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the HBO series "Game of Thrones" or the book "A Song of Ice and Fire" by George R.R. Martin.

Slamming her laptop shut, Sansa lets out a groan. Her history essay is due in three days and she needs serious help. Her fingers ache from the typing; her sentences and thoughts are a blur on the screen.

Her other assignments earlier in the week had taken precedence. She had studied for a chapter quiz in her last class. Everything was piling up until her essay was suddenly looming large.

She has her argument and she has her sources. Still, Sansa knows the paper is filled with formatting and grammatical errors. Her prior education had failed her in that department.

Sansa has always been reticent to visit the writing services center. The people that came to talk during her freshman orientation several years ago had been intimidating. Their no-nonsense appearance had caused her to veer away from any interaction in that area of the library.

Having survived three and a half years of writing acceptable essays, Sansa thought she would have no need of the center. 

Now though, with this eight page paper (and yeah, it’s double spaced, _still_) she knows she is in deep.

Walking to the kitchen, Sansa grabs a bagel. Tearing open the new tub of cream cheese, she slathers it on in anger.

This is a gen-ed class. _Who does this? _Why is it those professors who always demand the most from their students?

Reopening her computer, Sansa scrolls through the school’s website to find the writing center’s page. 

Desperation fills her as she finds out there’s only two available spots open tomorrow.

_Jon Snow - 2PM_

_Harry Hardyng - 4PM_

Sansa scowls. Harry, that posh boy she went on two dates a year ago with. She can’t remember what his major is. However, based on the bit of Harry she got to know, Sansa isn’t sure how qualified he is to help. Besides, does she really want to sit there and have him ask why she blew him off for a third date?

Hovering over the names, she anxiously clicks before exiting out of the tab. _Jon Snow - 2PM_

— — 

Sansa curses as she pulls her hair back. She’s just gotten out of the shower and her hair has made an unfortunate giant wet patch over one boob. 

She’s eating another bagel because, why not? Her chews are fast though because the library has a firm no food policy that they are unapologetic about enforcing. 

Venturing up the stairs, Sansa pulls at a loose thread of her sweatshirt. She’s proud of this essay. She doesn’t want to see it get ripped apart by this Jon Snow.

Margaery, her friend who was majoring in gender studies, described Sansa’s essay as magnificent. Margaery had the tendency to be eccentric, but she was also honest with Sansa. They were closer than Sansa was with her own younger sister. 

Arriving at the room, Sansa squares her shoulders before entering. Blinking in surprise, she realizes there’s a few more people here than she would have guessed.

Assistants, as they’re called, are scattered about with people of various grades. The closest is a shifty looking man with a pointed nose who stares hard as Sansa as she walks past. 

There’s no need to sign in apparently. Sansa stands in the center of the room, glancing about, cheeks growing warm.

“Sansa Stark?”

Whirling around, Sansa comes face to face with an attractive man. His face is serious, dark curls tied back, but a few fall around his face. He’s barely taller than her. He seems a couple years older.

“Jon Snow?” she asks, after a moment.

“That’s me. Let’s sit down,” he replies. 

Sansa nods, following him back to a table in the corner. He’s in dark jeans and a black sweater. Spring is just starting to come, but he looks like a winter type. 

“You’re here with a history essay?” he asks once they’re both seated.

“Um, yes. It’s for my history class. It’s mostly finished, I, uh, just need grammar help. Making sure the citations are correct so I don’t get expelled for plagiary” she jokes. 

He blinks at her. Sansa fakes a cough. He doesn't find her funny— _noted._

“I know you don't help with the actual writing here. So, um, that’s all I need,” she tapers off. 

“Alright. And is the document printed or on your laptop?”

“I— it’s online. Is that OK?”

Jon nods, seemingly unaffected by Sansa’s nervous shifting. 

“If you could just pull it up,” he adds softly when she does not move.

“Right.” 

Her cheeks are burning now as she quickly powers on her mac. Her homescreen, her and Margaery in front of the Leaning Tower on their study abroad, flashes up. Quickly typing in her password (_LadyWolf)_, Sansa thrusts her laptop towards Jon.

She had been writing earlier in the day. A half page of her argument, Sansa realized, was poorly written. After her morning class, she had taken time to revise it. 

Jon Snow leans forward and pulls out a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. A shiver runs up Sansa’s back as she watches his eyes begin flitting across the screen.

He’s _incredibly _attractive. He isn’t at all like the boys she used to have crushes on or date. Joffrey, Dickon, and Harry all pale in comparison with their soft features and sand colored hair. Jon Snow, she decides, is a _man_. 

There’s a fine line in college, between the guys who still have some high school tendencies in them and the guys who are serious, committed, and thinking about the future. He seems like the latter.

He’s too young though to be a professor, that much is certain. Sansa wonders if he’s a grad student. Opening her mouth to ask _(to fill the awkward silence and that odd man glancing at her)_, she shuts it as Jon Snow looks up at her.

“Miss Stark…” Jon trails off for a moment. “I don’t believe this is your history essay.”

Sansa frowns. Reaching out, she shifts the laptop towards her. Then, horror sweeps through her.

_Oh my god. Oh no. Oh my god. _

The document opened isn’t in fact her essay on the American Women’s suffrage movement and first wave feminism. It isn’t anything near that. 

This document is much shorter, unfinished clearly.

It starts out with a description of women’s roles in medieval times. It depicts one woman in particular and the fate she has so far suffered because she isn’t a powerful man.

However, it quickly turns to her being eagerly reunited with a man, a love interest.

_Oh god._

It’s Sansa’s latest fanfic for her favorite TV show. Two characters, Belinda and Christopher, are destined to be together, Sansa’s, like, so sure of that. However, they aren’t yet. So, to fill her annoyed state and satisfy other fans, Sansa has taken to writing fanfiction.

No one knows. Not even Margaery, who is almost as big a fan of the show as Sansa. 

Her fanfiction, it’s a secret part of her. It’s something that is just _hers_. Hers and the people who read it. And the people she talks on Tumblr with about Belopher. 

So far, Sansa has written two fics. This is her third and it’s the first time she’s ventured into writing _smut. _The last few weeks though, she’s been suffering from writer’s block. Where the plot was going, how much sex they were having and the _way_ they were having it, was all up in the air. Until, inspiration had struck. Earlier Sansa had taken some time away from her essay to write more of her steamy-ish fic. 

Sansa knows erotic writers exist. They actually publish books that perhaps get shoved in some secret section of a bookstore. She doesn’t think she’s quite like _them_, but maybe her writing says otherwise.

She stares in mute horror at the part Jon has stopped at. 

_“I missed you. You should have never gone south.”_

_“It was the only way, Belinda. We need her help.”_

_“I had to stay here and fight on _your _behalf. No one else believed in you.”_

_“Aye, and I’m thankful. I love you,” Christopher whispers._

_He moves in closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. She lets him pull her close. His lips ghost over her skin before Belinda grows restless. She presses her lips to his in a frenzy._

_“Will you show me how much you missed me?” _

_“Aye,” Christopher responds. “I’ll feast on your cunt until the sun comes up.”_

_“Please,” pleads Belinda, feeling the slickness between her thighs. “I want to feel you. I want your lips, your hands. And… I want your cock.”_

_“Mhm. I miss the feel of your tight, hot cunny.”_

A cry escapes Sansa’s lips. Her head whips to the right, taking in Jon Snow’s expression.

His mouth is half opened, as he waits for Sansa to speak. His ears are a bright red that spreads down his neck. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Sansa exclaims. “That’s not it. I—my paper is— oh fuck. Oh god.”

They both stare at each other as if caught. Both are slow to speak. 

Jon’s brows wrinkle. “Sansa—”

“I apologize,” she blurts. “It won’t happen again. I, uh, never mind. I need to go. Thanks anyway, Jon. I— _oh god_.”

She all but throws her laptop in her bag. As she rushes towards the exit, she thinks she hears Jon calling after her. 

Tears threatening to escape, Sansa rushes down the stairs, ignoring the annoyed looks from others at her noise.

By the time Sansa is outside, she is crying. Wiping her eyes with her sweatshirt, Sansa groans. 

_Can the floor swallow me whole? Can I just disappear?_

Even worse, her essay remains unlooked at. Maybe that she could try making an appointment for tomorrow or the day after. That, Sansa knows, is pushing it.

There’s also the definite possibility that Jon Snow could be there. Sansa doesn’t think she could bear being in the same vicinity as him. 

Sansa knows mortification, but this is a whole new level. Holding in another sob, Sansa shoots Margaery a quick text requesting her friend bring home a bottle of wine. It won’t help her forget this day longterm, but, hey, temporarily is nice too.

Remembering Jon Snow’s shocked face, Sansa sends an addition text to Marg. _Larger bottle, please_.

— — 

“So, let me get this straight. You’ve been writing this fanfiction for several months. You decided you wanted to try writing explicit _sex_ scenes. And, ha, the guy at the writing center _read it_?”

Margaery is shaking so much that rosé flies out of the glass, dotting her jeans. 

“It’s not funny, Marg.”

Her friend sobers, though the corners of her lips twitch. “I’m sorry it happened, Sansa. It could have been worse though. Don’t give me that look, it _could have_.”

“I’m never going in there again. I’ve got two semesters left, how hard can that be?” Sansa questions. 

Sighing, Margaery pours more wine. “Loras is an English major, you know. Tomorrow, let me get him to come look over your paper. He owes me anyway.”

Sagging in relief, Sansa replies, “Thank you.”

Margaery waves her hand in dismissal. After taking a big gulp of wine, she shoots Sansa a sly grin. “So… tell me about this Jon Snow.”

“There’s nothing to tell. He didn’t say much—”

“A brooder?”

“Uh, maybe. He was just formal about the whole thing, at first, obviously. I don’t know. His face when he handed me my laptop, oh _god_.”

“Yes, yes. But you said he was hot?”

“Dark curls,”’ says Sansa, thinking back. “Pouty lips.”

“Have you seen him around campus before?” questions Margaery.

“No. I’m going to make it my mission not to now!”

Her friend looks as if she wants to say more. Marg knows when to back off though, so instead she just hums and reaches into the bowl of snacks between them.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Sansa sips more wine. She’s always admired how forward Margaery is with people, but men especially. She has a persona that draws people in and curls them around her pinky finger. Margaery is seldom afraid of the spotlight or confrontation; these are two things Sansa detests. 

If it had happened with Marg, she would have laughed at the whole thing, right there in the writing center room. She would have flicked her shiny brown _(dry)_ locks behind her shoulders and given Jon Snow the widest grin imaginable. She would have flirted and come out unscathed, perhaps even with a phone number or snapchat. 

“Sans?” 

“Sorry… did you say something?”

“Well, I hope you don't stop writing your stories just because of what happened.”

“I— never,” Sansa says resolutely. “I mean, this coming season is the last. If Belinda and Christopher don’t end up together… well what else can I do but write what _should_ happen?”

— —

Latte in hand, Sansa meanders around campus in search of an open table. It’s a warmer day and she wants to take advantage of that. 

Finding a spot near the quad, Sansa settles down. 

She has a presentation for her comm class, as well as a statistics quiz to study for. Pulling out her many highlighters, Sansa sets to work.

It’s a couple hours later, coffee gone, when she decides to leave. The sun is shining bright as it begins to set. 

Blinking, Sansa winds her way through the various crowds of students. 

Pausing, she stops to toss her drink away. She really needs to remember her reusable travel cups. 

“Sansa!”

Drawing her head back, Sansa looks around. Surprise and dismay fills her as she catches sight of Jon Snow. 

He’s almost in front of her now. His hair is loose today. Instead of the black sweater, he wears red. _And those damn glasses. _

They’ve made eye contact. It’s too late for her to pretend she hasn't heard him. Sansa bites her lip hard, edging towards him with slow steps.

“Jon,” she greets.

“Can I talk with you for a moment?”

“Well,” she pauses. “I-I guess so.”

She makes a show of looking at her watch. 

“You left so suddenly last week. I hope everything worked out with your essay?”

“I think so. My professor is a slow grader, so I can’t be totally sure. I, uh, got a friend to look over it. Turns out I’m either not so grammatically impaired as I thought or, he knows nothing.”

Jon half-grins. “I’m glad. I don’t think I got to find out what it was about?”

Sansa’s face warms. “Right. It was about the, um, suffrage movement and first wave feminism. It was about how women of color were excluded and I compared it to today’s movement towards intersectionality.”

“It sounds quite interesting.”

“Thanks.”

An awkward silence settles over them. After a moment, Sansa asks, “are you an undergrad or?”

“I’m a first year grad student.”

“Oh cool. I hadn’t seen you around much. N-Not that I was looking for you. I just didn’t recognize you, but obviously the grad campus is several blocks away.”

“I…” it’s Jon’s turn to stumble. “That, erm, what I read… that’s from _Ploy for Power?_ I recognized Belinda and Christopher.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“They haven't reunited,” Jon comments.

“Well,” Sansa huffs. “Not _yet_. But, when they do, I think Christopher has some explaining to do.”

“You think he doesn't love Isobel?” inquires Jon, eyebrows raised in interest.

“Of course not! It’s a _ploy. _It’s _political_. That’s the entire point of the show, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” concedes Jon. “But uh, I don’t know about Belinda and Christopher having so much _enthusiasm_ for each other.”

Sansa is sure her whole face is red. Jon is scratching the back of his neck. His expression is one of amusement mixed with embarrassment.

“I wanted it. That part, I mean,” Sansa murmurs. 

Jon licks his lips. “It seemed it was going to get quite detailed.”

“It did,” she replies.

Sansa’s voice shakes, but she doesn’t dare look away. Thinking of Margaery, she stands straighter. _What would her friend do?_

Batting her lashes, Sansa asks, “Would you like to read it?”

Jon’s eyes widen. His expression shifts and Sansa’s stomach tightens. For a moment, she fears he’ll leave. He, actually, doesn't want anything to do with her. The words cannot be taken back though; so, Sansa waits with bated breath for his response.

“I think,” he replies. “I’d rather show you.”

They seem equally surprised that the words have escaped their mouths. Jon looks halfway ready to take the words back and bolt.

Sansa sways. “Maybe dinner first?” 

— —

Falling back against her sheets, Sansa lets out a sigh. Her upper body is unclothed. Her skirt is flipped up against her belly.

Jon reappears next to her. Some of her wetness trickles from his lip to his stubble. 

“That was fucking wonderful,” he proclaims. 

Sansa likes this, the unbothered, open man before her. He lies back next to her, intertwining his hand with hers.

She chuckles, her other hand drifting down to the straining bulge in his pants. 

Jon grins at her. He reaches out, running a hand through her long locks. Sansa’s heart feels lighter than it has in a while.

Her hand pauses its movements. Tilting her head, Sansa asks, almost shyly, “Do you think you could read through my other fics? I don’t have a beta. I hadn’t really cared for one, but I… if you don't want to, I’ll understand, of course.”

Jon’s lips part. “Are they all quite, erm, graphic like that?”

Sansa begins rubbing him through his pants again. “They _could_ be. They probably will be, in fact.”

Jon’s eyes go even darker. “That’s an important job. Do you have that faith in me?”

Letting out a small laugh, Sansa replies, “_You know I do._”

He doesn't verbally answer her, but that’s fine. Jon pulls her over him, pressing kisses to her jaw, cheeks, and lips the way Sansa imagines the characters in her fic did. They slowly grind against one another, breathy sighs escaping every now and then. 

Pressing soft pecks along his neck, when she reaches his ear, Sansa whispers, “You’ve given me great inspiration, Jon Snow.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on Tumblr: thkingslayer


End file.
